War Games
by The Seamonkey
Summary: AU, set in sixth year. With war looming dark on the horizon, Hogwarts becomes the training ground for a new Dumbledore's Army, unlike anything the wizarding world has ever seen before. Harry and the rest of the students must rise to the challenge or fall.


**A/N: A collaboration fic done with Rogue Elf (my friend Meg). AU, set during sixth year. Everything that happened in the books up until the end of the fifth one still happened, and many elements of the sixth book are included, though we'll glaze over the stuff you know already (this is a fanfic, not a retelling of a story you've already read). Don't worry; the rest of the chapters will be good and long. This is just the prologue. Reviews are nice. :)**

**--**

It was odd, he thought to himself, that he should be pursuing such a dark and dangerous mission on a sunny day such as this. Birdcalls twittered overhead as he walked grimly forward down the gravel road beside the tall hedges; fresh dew glistened on the leaves as he passed by. It was the first bright day that he had seen in a long time, and if he turned his face up to the sky, he could almost pretend that Voldemort hadn't returned at all.

He paused only for a moment when he reached the little wood that hid the tiny shack from view. It was strange to think that so much evil had been harboured in the rickety old cabin before him, barely standing up on its own anymore, the wood boards peeling, nails falling out and hanging loose. A part of the roof had caved in. He sighed. If only there was another way to do this.

Dumbledore straightened his back and pointed his wand at the door. It was half-destroyed already; not much effort was needed to open it the rest of the way. A cloud of dust puffed out as the door swung noisily inwards. It was clear that no living soul had set foot here in ages. He gathered his magic about him and cast a powerful Shield charm around himself, and then stepped forward across the threshold.

_BANG._

A heavy fog enveloped him, seeming to pour out from the very rafters and boards themselves, passing through his Shield as though it were air. Cold chilled him to the bone as the fog clung to his skin, creeping into his lungs and making it difficult to breathe. A great weariness came over him; would it really be so bad just to sink to his knees, to take the weight off his feet for a while? The cracked floor of the cabin looked so comfortable and inviting...bone-deep cold crept through his veins, freezing him almost to the point of immobility. Fear made his jaw tremble before he locked it shut with the discipline of years. He could beat this.

His consciousness retreated to a part of himself that could still think logically. This was a spell. An extremely potent and complex one, considering that his Shield charm had done literally nothing to deter it, but a spell nonetheless. It could be beaten and removed. If he could determine what its properties were and how it was invading his senses, it could be countered. He contemplated what was happening to him—a visible portion, the fog; the cold that was chilling him so that his limbs were going numb; the feeling of undeniable weariness that was overcoming his determination to remain upright; and, of course, the fear...only one type of very complex Dark magic could have accomplished such a highly potent defense.

"_Tepidus...Luminarium...Complexo._"

Warmth and light rushed through him, burning away the fog from his body and giving him a protective shell from behind which he could work. It was a simple matter of banishing the rest of the Dark spell once he was freed from its effects. The orange-gold light emanating from him faded, and he could take in his surroundings within the cabin's interior.

It was musty, dark and dank. Dust clung to every available surface, nearly an inch thick in some places. He looked around, taking stock of the place. The aged hearth was black and grey with soot and grime, not having been used or cleaned since Merope Gaunt had died. He muttered to the air under his breath. "All right, Gellert...what do you think? If I were an evil madman with a penchant for heritage and destiny, where would I hide a very special ring?" He glanced to his left as a thought came to him, and saw a little drawer in the side of the table that he hadn't noticed under the dust. "Excellent. Thank you." With a slight smile, he closed the distance in two steps and reached out to open the drawer.

It was empty.

Dumbledore frowned. He had been sure...he reached into the drawer to feel around and see if there was a false bottom, but there was nothing. Suddenly a noise from outside made him start. Someone was coming. He must have set off some sort of silent trapped alarm, and now Voldemort was right outside. The Dark Lord couldn't know what Dumbledore was up to! If Voldemort knew that he knew about the Horcruxes, and was going after them—he had to hide, had to conceal himself—his heart pounded as adrenaline flooded through his veins, blood rushing loudly in his ears. His eyes widened with panic. Whoever was outside was almost at the door. There must be another way out—there was a dirty window on the far wall; if he could just reach it—but no, he couldn't leave, he had to get the ring—twigs snapped just on the other side of the wall of the cabin—he was drenched in panic and frantic, wild indecision—

But wasn't it oddly coincidental that someone happened to be outside at the exact time that Dumbledore himself was here? When clearly, no one had come within fifty feet of this place for years? And what would Riddle be doing, revisiting the hiding place for a Horcrux? Surely the more times he went there, the more likely it would be to be discovered. Dumbledore was certain that he hadn't tripped any magical alarms. He would have sensed them, if he had.

He backed away to the far wall of the cabin just in case, and was only mildly surprised to find that the wild panic died down with each step he took away from the drawer. He moved forward towards it—fear flared up in him again. Well, that about proved it. He couldn't stop the pounding of his heart or the trembling in his limbs, but he could distance himself from it. Discipline overcame his body's terror, and he walked forward again, standing over the innocent-looking drawer. It appeared empty to his eyes and felt empty to his hands. "_Specialis Revelio._" A little flare of purple light appeared before him, and drew itself into lines that encompassed the walls of the drawer. A soft, triumphant smile came over his face, even through the panic that was still making his hands tremble.

The enchantment was a complex one, to be sure, but Dumbledore hadn't expected any less of Riddle. He undid it with a bit of wandwork and a handy spell that he had created with the help of Gellert Grindelwald when they were young and perhaps more explorative, magically speaking, than they should have been. He smiled again at the memory of the spell's birth—they had used it to undo the concealment charms they had put on the letters they wrote to each other. The smile faded as he thought of how far they both had come from that time in their lives, on such different paths.

The sudden appearance of a small gold ring, bearing the Peverell signet on the black stone resting in the gold set, brought Dumbledore back to the present. The panic had begun to fade by now, and he felt that he could pick up the ring without his hands shaking. He reached in, triumphant.

The last thing he felt before his mind and body were torn asunder into screeching black oblivion was pain.


End file.
